


We Come 1

by rabbitxheart



Series: Sterek Week 2016 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, F/M, M/M, Sterek Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitxheart/pseuds/rabbitxheart





	

“Stiles, it’s not happening.”

Stiles glares daggers at Argent, who barely looks up from his papers.

“This is bullshit and you know it.” 

“You may be McCall’s best friend and you may be very close but you don’t make the same decisions in battle and _you_ know it.” Stiles opens his mouth to argue, but Argent just raises his hand. “This isn’t a discussion, Stilinski,” he says, putting weight on the formality of using his last name. Nobody ever does that but Finstock, who usually forgets his name altogether. _It’s not a discussion; it’s an order_.

“Yes, Marshal.” Stiles bites out and walks out of the room, still fuming.

 

“What’d he say?” Scott asks as soon as Stiles exits the room. 

Stiles shakes his head and grits his teeth, dodging the others in the corridor as they walk past them until he gets to their room.

“We’re not compatible enough.”

“What? Is Argent frickin’ insane, of course we are!” Shaking his head yet again, Stiles sits down on his bed as Scott closes the door behind them.

“No, Scott. We’re not. If you end up having to choose between saving my ass or landing a killing blow on a kaiju too close to shore, which would you pick?”

“I’d find a way to do both,” Scott says like it’s the easiest, most obvious thing in the world.

“That’s my point. I’d kill the kaiju. We’re match from nurture, Scott. Not nature. We can’t disagree about this stuff, not with a 2500 ton monster to take care of.” Scott slumps down next to him, bumping their shoulders together.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, dude. Shit happens.”

“It just means you’ll have my back in a different Jaeger.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. The chance of him being compatible with someone he's never met isn't just small, it's near microscopical. Maybe back when people lined up for pilot training in the thousands, but not now. He's never getting into a Jaeger.

He’s never getting in  _ his  _ Jaeger, most importantly.

“Did he say who I’m teaming up with?” Scott asks, a little more upbeat.

“Allison Argent,” Stiles admits. 

“She’s gonna be inside my head? But she’s gonna find out-”

“About your crush, yes. Hopefully that means one of you will finally act, because I’m sick of seeing you dance around eachother,” Stiles grins.

A quick knock on the door is the only warning they have before it swings open, Isaac poking his head in. He’s one of the medics, but they’ve known him almost all their lives. His brother Camden flew one of the jets that attempted to take Trespasser down on K-Day and he ended up losing his entire family before the week was over. He’d been taken in by Scott’s mother, and by the time the Stilinskis were back on US soil, him and Scott were like brothers. They often joke about the Shatterdome being a family business, but with the Argents running it, the Stilinskis being in charge of the training and the McCalls in the med bay, it’s not too far from the truth.

“Aren’t you on duty?” Scott frowns.

“Yeah, so get your asses in gear.” Isaac looks to Stiles. “Deaton and your dad's back from New York with some old hotshot, come on!”

 

They watch from the medic room balcony as the helicopter lands, 

“Whoa, shit. Shit, shit, shit.” Stiles rubs at his neck, gripping the railing  _ tight _ . “I can’t believe it, he actually agreed.”

“What? Who is he?” Isaac pushes Stiles to the side to get a better look.

“That’s Derek Hale.”

“No way!” Isaac grins. “That’s him?”

“Who?” Scott pushes at Isaac to see, too.

“..who?” Stiles stares at Scott like he’s grown a tail. “Derek Hale as in Peter and Talia Hale, as in the son slash nephew of the first sibling Jaeger team  _ ever _ . Him and his sister piloted the first Mark 4 in service, Scott, you’re about to become a pilot yourself, you should know this!” Stiles hisses and slaps the back of his head lovingly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott says and starts making his way into the building, Stiles and Isaac trailing after. “Let’s go inside before mom catches us here.” 

 

The San Francisco Shatterdome, smaller than the Los Angeles Shatterdome but still impressive, was built just south of the city itself. With both Anchorage and LA nearby the PPDC felt little need for a big number of Jaegers, usually keeping two or three, but as the domes were shut down and Jaegers stopped being built, the numbers dwindled and the remaining Jaeger teams ended up there or in Asia, increasing the teams in the Shatterdome. 

“The last remaining Shatterdome apart from Hong Kong. They built the wall just east of here, given that most of San Francisco itself was destroyed by Trespasser there isn’t much to wall in.” Stilinski informs him as he gets out of the helicopter, just barely louder than the noise surrounding them. “Good to have one on each side, though. At least we have western and eastern coverage.”

“How many do you keep here?” Derek looks over at him. He’s aged noticeably since he saw him last, but it’s been six years and Derek probably doesn’t look any younger either. Deaton is almost aggravatingly wrinkleless.

“Reyes and Boyd in Echo Beta, Whittemore and Martin in Banshee Hydra. Both mark 4. You already know the twins and Copper Dawn.”

“Only three?” Derek frowns.

“Lose funding and pilots, and that’s where you end up,” Stilinski sighs. “Same thing across the water. They just got a fourth up and running.”

He looks across the platform, watches the workers run about. Some he recognizes, some he doesn’t.

“Argent’s funding all of this?”

“He’s not his father,” Stilinski nods, answering the question Derek didn’t ask. “Thank God,” he mutters under his breath, and Derek can’t help but chuckle a little. Neither of them ever liked Gerard, even long before the death of his mother.

 

“I heard Scott got teamed up with New Girl.” Danny greets him as Stiles makes his way into the control room.

“Let’s not.” Stiles plops down in the chair next to Danny and his monitors.  “Sooo, are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Yep, and it’s not you,” Danny sends him a pointed look and Stiles shrugs, stealing his pen from him. “Find your escapism somewhere else.”

“Hey, it was worth a try. Where’s Lydia?”

“She’s in the office. Your dad and Deaton are showing Hale around, you should probably be there and, you know,  _ do your job _ .”

“What?!” Stiles shoots up out of the chair and flings the pen at Danny. “Gotta go!”

 

Stiles manages to beat them to it, and has just enough time to sit down and look busy before they come walking through the door. Hale is a little shorter than he remembers, or maybe he himself is a bit taller. Either way, it’s definitely Derek Hale, and Stiles forcibly turns his attention to the specimen under his microscope to avoid staring.

“Welcome to the kaiju science department. Dr Martin, my co-pilot,” he says, nodding to Lydia, “and the one-man nerd squad,” Jackson says and rolls his eyes in Stiles’ general direction. Derek glares at the back of Jackson's head when Jackson looks away, much to Stiles' delight. It's short lived, however, because Derek sends the same look to Stiles' specimen jars when he sees them, only tinged with a little disgust, too.

“Ugh, ignore Jackson, he’s just jealous of my massive intel- do not touch that!” Stiles yelps and slaps Lydia’s hand away from one of the tanks.

“Is that-”

“A piece of a Kaiju occipital lobe, yes, Newt sent it yesterday. Have you any idea how quickly that liquid could dissolve the table if you tip it over?”

“Have you any idea how many ways I could kill you in a matter of seconds if that  _ thing  _ ends up on my side of the room and, by extension, my things?” Lydia bites back. “If I have to send another one of my designer handbags to decontamination I will cut you up and feed you to my dog.”

“That  _ thing _ is not a dog, it’s a miniature kaiju with fur!”

“Prada is not a  _ kaiju _ ,” Lydia hisses through her teeth. “If she were, maybe  _ you _ would be chasing  _ her _ , not the other way around.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and regards her for a second.

“You know what, how bout I take your little ‘dog’ and-”

“With the funding cut, so was most of the science team,” Deaton cuts them off. “All of the younger science team members are also either pilots or trainees.”

“Sir.” They say in unison, turning to face Deaton. Danny just shakes his head at them from where he's watching in the doorway.

”You’re both doctors?” Hale asks, and if he’s surprised it doesn’t show.

“I have PhDs in theoretical mathematics and applied sciences  _ and  _ I’m both the youngest and first female winner of the Fields Medal,” Lydia says proudly. “Stiles has a PhD in xenobiology and-”

“And a bachelor's in xeno behavioural science,” Stiles adds and pats the jar of kaiju brains in his hands.

“Really? That’s a thing?”

“Well, I’m the first in the world. Paving the way, and all that jazz.”

“Didn't know it was possible.” Derek nods, looking a little puzzled, then turns to Danny. “You a doctor on the side, too?”

“No. I do programming, mostly, and supervise the drops. I found pieces of an abandoned Mark 3 and got it to work again, got found out and asked to join the science team. I programmed Hansens' Mark 5. Oh, and I did some work with-”

“ _ Danny _ .” Stiles is glaring at him. Derek gives him an odd look, but doesn't say anything.

“Oh, right. Nevermind.” Danny chuckles and sneaks out of the room again, Jackson following him.

“I'm going to make sure everyone on the list is cleared for tomorrow. Dr Martin, I might need your help.” Stilinski informs them and nods to Deaton. “Stiles, why don’t you show Derek to your room. Scott’s moved his things to his new room already, Hale can take over his bunk until we’ve found a co-pilot. I’ll need both of you in the training room tomorrow morning for tryouts. 7 am.”

“Alright,” Stiles says and puts the jar down gently and walks towards the door. “Yeah, okay.”

Derek gives him a confused look, but doesn’t say anything.

“Come on. Let’s get some food, we can eat out by the bay. There's something you should see.”

“We're protecting the pacific while Hong Kong try to get Operation Pitfall off ground and we needed another Jaeger, right? But there was only one mark 5 Jaeger fully finished and one somewhat done, the rest are just betas or mark 4’s, so we went a little rogue with what we had. We finished up the mark 5 and this one.” Stiles looks over his shoulder to where she is docked, some finishing touches still being made. “We had to use what we had and I didn't want you to have it thrown at you right before drifting again for the first time. Sorry.”

Hale squints, eyes roaming over her, piece by piece comparing what's in front of them with the Jaeger he remembers from before. Stiles tries not to stare, even if Hale doesn't seem to notice he's even there. He gets it. He did the same thing when he saw her for the first time.

Eventually Stiles turns towards the bay, looking towards the Jaeger he thought he'd be getting ready to enter is. Now that Hale’s back and Scott’s going with Argent Jr in the mark 5 prototype, Stiles will have to watch her move by someone else’s hand, and it  _ hurts _ . She's a thing of beauty, too- sleek black with red details, most of the hull upgraded.

“Is that parts of a mark 2?” He asks after nearly five minutes of silence.

“The only intact one on the planet. Well, not now.”

“Where did you get an intact mark 2?”

“Have you ever seen a Jaeger move while in the maintenance bay? Unmanned?”

Derek shakes his head and takes another sip.

“There’s this kind of urban legend about the connection between two pilots and their jaeger, that the residual pilot to pilot connection from the drift sticks with the jaeger too. Some Shatterdome technicians have seen them move unmanned, like they’re twitching in their sleep.”

Derek huffs and pulls out a water bottle from his backpack.  He can see the little smile Derek’s trying to hide behind the bottle as he takes a sip.

“You don’t think I’m serious?” He asks, a little amused.

“I used to dream about being with Laura, not in battle, just… Patrolling the coast with her, and then I’d wake up and we’d be sleepwalking the both of us, side by side. That the Jaegers would be completely unaffected by a bond so strong seems unlikely.” Derek sighs. “I don't know why I just told you that.”

“M- The, uh.. One of the pilots of the mark 2 died. Poor radiation shielding. They tried to use the Jaeger again once they'd fixed it up but it refused to cooperate with any other pair. ” Derek seems to remember and nods.

“Claudia Stilinski. They used to do runs with my mom and uncle, I remember her. She was a great pilot. How did you get him to agree to taking it apart?”

Opposite them, across the wide canyon of the maintenance bay floor and a few floors higher, Stiles can see people moving about in the control room. Scott and the Argent girl must be about to do their first test run.

“It took some time and some bribing,” he admits. “But eventually he agreed it was what had to be done, since he wouldn’t get back in it himself. Danny helped me get all of it together, smooth out the seams, upgrade her a little. We named her Krasnaya Volchitsa.”

“Russian.”

“Well, she is of Russian decent, after all.”

Derek nods again, leaning against the steel beam next to him. From his lack of reaction, Stiles guesses he doesn't know what the name means. Stiles remembers the Derek he used to see in the papers and on TV, soaking up the attention like a cat in sunlight.

Now he looks like the constant presence of people is damn near worse than the Kaiju problem. Derek looks tired, the kind of tired you get after swimming for too long, trying to keep yourself above the surface despite the storm.

A mechanic walks by them.

“Sorry, man, gotta clear out. Marshal's orders. Testing's about to start.” Stiles sighs, glances over at Huntress' team getting her ready. It still doesn't feel right.

“Wanna see your room?”

“Yeah,” Derek sighs, taking a long look at Volchitsa before he turns, falling into step beside Stiles.

They walk in silence until they round the corner to their room.

“I can sleep through anything, so don’t worry about waking me if you’re an early morning kinda person,” Stiles says with a smile, despite the empty space left behind Scott hurting a bit. They knew it would happen. He’d kept busy all day just to avoid watching Scott move. “Bottom bunk okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek nods, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

 

“What do you do?” Derek asks when Stiles has climbed up on his bed and Derek's made his.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what do you do? I know you’re a scientist, but what do you do? Deaton said you all had double roles.”

“I'm a trainee, actually. But I do different science projects while waiting. I mean, I'm stuck here anyway so why waste my education.” Derek leans against the side of the bunk bed, looking straight at him for what’s probably the first time since he entered the lab. 

“Who'd you sign up with?” 

“Scott. Mccall, the doctor's son.” Stiles clarifies. “Turns out we're not drift compatible enough. There was a better match.”

Derek winces.

“Yeah. He was teamed up with Argent's daughter earlier today. They are doing their first trial run now.”

“She's a pilot?” Just like that, Derek's features close up.

“Yeah. I had no idea she even existed until she moved here a few months ago. She trained in Lima,” Stiles replies. Derek nods, quick and tense.

It's nothing like the relaxed smiles up by the repair area.

“I’m gonna have an early night, if that’s alright,” he says, all politeness and way off.

“Yeah man, no worries. I’m just gonna read a bit, won’t make a noise.”

Derek just nods, slips out of his shirt and into sweatpants. If he notices Stiles noticing the scarring around his middle, the burns from the drivesuit where Laura was hurt, he doesn’t show it at all. When he turns back around Stiles keeps his eyes trained on the papers in his lap.

Stiles listens to Derek toss and turn in his sleep for about an hour before he gives up himself and turns the light off.  

 

Stiles expected that Derek would be in a foul mood, if the silence all the way through waking up and having breakfast was anything to go by, but this is ridiculous. There’s not a trainee on the side of the mat that Derek hasn’t more or less kicked the ass of. 

 

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath.

Apparently not enough under his breath for Derek not to hear it.

“You think you could do better?” Derek sends him a look, probably thinking it would shut Stiles up. One glance at his dad tells Stiles that everyone in the room knows he should’ve known better. 

“Actually,” Stiles says breezily. “I think you could do better.”

“Stiles,” his father sighs.

“Do tell,” Derek says, resting his arms on the staff.

“First of all, you’re uncomfortable with the staff. You have a history of unarmed hand-to-hand, you should be doing tryouts without the staff given that you’re the more experienced pilot, but you defer to the Shatterdome standard.” Stiles folds his notebook together. “You’re meeting your candidates on an already uneven ground. In a fight you could work that to your advantage, so that’s what you do, but this is a dialogue. They’re not hostile targets, you treat them like they are.”

He can see Boyd and Reyes in the back, nodding to eachother. 

“Alright,” Derek says, handing off the staff to Jackson. “So let’s see a dialogue, then. Sergeant?”

“No.” Stilinski shakes his head before Stiles can even open his mouth. “We’re already wasting time as it is.”

 

“He should do it.” All three turn around to stare at Lydia where she's standing in the doorway.

“Based on what? They need to be drift compatible.” Stilinski demands.

“I've looked over the data and their match is one of the best I've ever seen from two individuals who didn't sign up together. Stiles wasn't included in the list because McCall was assigned to a Jaeger yesterday and it was written two days ago.”

“It takes more than that, dr Martin, and you know it. As far as I know, they've never talked before yesterday.”

Something in Lydia's face softens. So does her voice as she changes to Russian, knowing only her and the Stilinski's will understand.

“They grew up in similar environments, born in the same city and went to the same schools. They've experienced similar losses at similar ages, gone through the same training and they are of similar weight and height. In every simulation, and in Hale's case real drops, they have made similar choices. I looked at their psych evals and they even have the same people issues.”

“My psych eval says I have people issues?! I talk all the time!” Stiles argues, in English. Lydia whips around, pinning him with A Look.

“Yes, Stiles. You talk from the moment you wake up 'til the moment you fall asleep and yet nobody but your father and Scott knows a thing about you when it comes down to it.” She turns back to Stiles' father. “Look, I get it. But the radiation shields on Volchitsa are better than any radiation shield out there. I made sure of that. You're not losing your son to exposure, too.” Stiles  _ hears _ Derek's head whip around to stare at him, but doesn't take his eyes away from Lydia and his father. “We need someone Volchitsa recognizes if this is going to work and you're not an option. I'm sorry.”

“Fine,” John sighs and takes Stiles’ notepad from him. “But let it be known that I do not like it one bit.”

 

“So.” Derek says, a little grin playing on his lips. 

“So.” Stiles echoes back.

“Krav maga? We’re similar in stature enough to wrestle.” Derek suggests.

A very brief, fleeting and very, very inappropriate image pops up in Stiles’ head.

“You’re like a mountain of muscle.” 

He huffs out a small laugh, but a laugh it is, and Stiles feels a bit too smug for his own good.

“And you’re faster. Besides, it’s not about winning, right?”

Stiles knows. It’s a dance, a partnership. His parents met at a taekwondo tournament, sparred just for the hell of it and discovered just how compatible they were, trading barbs as often as kicks. He won’t suggest boxing, like Laura used to do. Knows Derek doesn’t need the reminder.

“Mixed?” Stiles suggests. He wants to see what Derek can do without the stick, without the confines of one single style.

Derek gives him a look Stiles can’t quite read, reminiscent of curiosity but mixed with something else, and when Derek nods, Stiles nods back.

 

Here’s what Stiles knows: Derek is stronger. He packs one hell of a punch, used to do full-contact sports for giggles as he trained with Laura and has a high pain tolerance, or he would never have survived the death of his sister the way he did. Which brings him to item number two: Derek knows how to fight someone who’s smaller and quicker. Laura was a lightning bolt; strong and fierce but almost supernaturally reactive in the ring.

Third is that Derek got the same education in the Kwoon that Stiles did. That means he knows how to grapple. The only way Stiles is going to stay on his feet and keep going is if he avoids getting gripped, or getting in a clinch. He needs to do this with his brain as much as his body, because that’s where Derek and Stiles will even out. He needs to play Derek like he’s playing chess, staying two moves ahead at all times. 

“Wrapped and ready,” Boyd announces from the other side of the mat. Reyes checks the tape on Stiles’ hands one final time, then confirms it with a simple look to Boyd. 

“Let’s go, big guy,” Stiles says, slipping his mouth guard in. Derek just grins, a dangerous flash of teeth before he gets his guard in as well, sending a shiver down Stiles’ spine.

 

Later, when they’re back at the same spot they had their dinner less than 24 hours prior, slightly bruised and very high on adrenaline still, Derek sits down much closer on his own volition. Close, but not right next to. This won’t do, Stiles thinks to himself, and inches closer until their thighs press against eachother, more reassurance of the other’s presence than anything else. Still, Derek nudges Stiles’ foot where it’s dangling off the edge of the deck, swinging their legs sideways for a few paces. It breathes a familiarity they don’t really have, shouldn’t have before the drift, but it’s all good. Great even.

“I thought your last name was Stiles.” He says at last, stealing a sip of Stiles’ soda. 

“Nah, it's a nickname. I grew up with most people around here, they only call me Stilinski when I’ve done something wrong,” he snickers. “Nobody can pronounce my name, anyway.”

Derek hums. A dismissal to most, but Stiles knows better now. He’s fairly sure Derek will call him by his given name by the end of the week.

“You were just going to let them take her?” Derek says, and yet again anyone else might think it harsh. But Stiles gets it, gets Derek. They have the same bond to Volchitsa, she’s Stiles’ as much as she is Derek’s. “I’d go crazy.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Someone needs to pilot her, and one of those need to be you or me. I wasn’t exactly expecting to be out-matched by Allison.”

They eat in silence, comfortable and calm unlike the one before the tryouts, only broken by occasional sightings of other pilots and little things Derek ought to know, like their mechanics and the members of the Volchitsa restoration team. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” Derek confesses, then hands Stiles half his oatmeal cookie like it’s what they do on a daily basis. Stiles accepts it, offers sharing his coffee in return.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “You too.”

They have less than three hours until drop. There’s no need for walls and defense mechanisms, not anymore.

 

"Too late to be nervous now, Stilinski," Stiles breathes to himself, locking his feet in on Volchitsa's floor. 

“Just close your eyes and try not to go after the RABBIT,” Derek says and closes his eyes and the current grabs Stiles' mind by the waist, pulling it into the deep and-

_ his mother is in her hospital bed, trimmer in hand, their weekly haircut that they help each other with, the silver lining in a rubbing alcohol scented hell _

_ “What kind of a name is that?!” and a strong shoulder sending him into a locker _

_ Kissing Heather on her birthday, drunk and a little sloppy _

_ Kissing Paige behind the bleachers before practice but he doesn’t know anybody named Paige yet the emotion feels like it’s his, the searing pain of loss like when Scott held his hand and let him cry on his shoulder while his father laid next to his mother to keep her body warm just a little longer, despite the kaiju blood on the ground around them and Paige’s voice, full of pain and fear, asking him to do the unthinkable and Stilinski telling him Kate and her co-pilot knowingly let the Hale jaeger get overwhelmed and "I'm sorry, your uncle is stable but your mother passed away” _

_ “Your mother is dying, Stiles. Stiles?” _

“Stiles!”

“Whoa!” Stiles resurfaces coughing and wheezing, dragging his mind back to the present and blinks the tears away from his eyes. Derek doesn’t mention it, but he can feel him there, in the Drift, nudging him the way gentle waves push you about in the shallows.  _ I’m sorry/I should have given you a heads up _ / _ I went to your mother’s funeral _

“S’okay, I’m okay. Are you okay?”  _ It’s okay/I saw you in the back with your sister and _ Stiles abruptly pulls away from that thought because that’s a feedback loop of sorrow neither one wants to get stuck in.

And wow, Derek isn’t overly talkative in general, but his thoughts are  _ all over _ the place.

_ I’m fine/I’ve missed seeing Paige even if it means sharing her memory but he knows what it’s like, you know what it’s like/am I really doing this/these shoes fit better than my old ones/wait what’s that button?/the claws are a surprise, Derek, don’t ruin it/Stiles I can read your mind, what do you mean claws?! _

Stiles rolls his eyes and he hears Derek huff, feeling him radiate fondness towards him where their consciousnesses blend together.

“Claws, Derek. Installed them with the new brass knuckles, they’re charged to cauterize the wounds so there’s no kaiju blue problem.”

_ Volchitsa means shewolf _ . The nickname they gave Talia Hale, as ferocious as her brother, if not more.

Derek doesn’t say it, doesn’t even think it, not really, but there’s a slow glow of genuine surprise from him, making Stiles very thankful that the blue of the visor covers his face and the blush steadily rising to his cheeks.

Right, shit, Derek can hear those thoughts, too.

Stiles looks over to his left and there's a small smile on Derek's face that he doesn't even bother to hide when he catches Stiles staring. If anything, it grows stronger. Then an image of himself flickers across his mind, downright fucking  _ filthy _ compared to the one Stiles thought of just this morning at try-outs, one he definitely didn’t put there himself, and Derek ducks his head, smiling down at his boots almost coyly.

_ Coyly _ . After a thought like  _ that _ . Stiles is as outraged as he is intrigued and turned on, and he doesn’t need to hear Derek’s small giggle to feel how amused he is. 

_ you’re going to be the end of me/you like it/you do too _

“Neural handshake strong and holding,” says Danny with an impressed whistle. “Lydia was right.”

“About what?” They ask in unison as they turn forward and Stiles can hear Scott’s cackle in the background.

“I think you guys just broke the record for quickest first alignment.”

“I’ve drifted before,” Derek says, but it lacks conviction.  _ Not like this _ . Stiles can feel him, testing the blurred edges of their connection, more like careful brushes than prodding. He doesn’t mind it. They float against each other, completely in sync, like water and oil in the same vessel.

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny chuckles and hands over the mic.

“I want to see you take her out for a walk.” Argent sounds impressed _ /he should be, we rock/don’t get cocky/oh shut up, I can see you smiling _ and then the restlessness of Volchitsa starts pulling at him and  _ wow _ .  _ I think she knows who we are, she’s never responded like this with anyone _ .

“Yeah,” Derek agrees under his breath, more to Stiles than anyone else. “Sounds good,” he then adds for Argent.

“Connection holding strong,” Danny says. Game time.

“Left hemisphere calibrating.” Derek starts flipping switches, and Stiles feels the drift pulling at his body as well as his mind.

“Right hemisphere calibrating,” Stiles echoes. 

They lift their arms, shift their legs, and Volchitsa’s feet plant themselves in her first battle stance in years as she holds her guard up, and Stiles learns that there is  _ nothing _ like a double adrenaline rush.

 

There’s sand in Stiles’ mouth. Or maybe it’s Derek’s, it’s still a bit fuzzy around the edges where the drift connected them mere seconds ago. Either way, it pisses him off even harder.

“Let it be known that the only reason I'm not punching you in the fucking face is because I'm not sure if you have a concussion,” Stiles hisses and sits down next to him, gently pulling him into his lap. Volchitsa is still whole enough that she would let Stiles know if Derek was too injured to move, even if the hull is battered like never before. Both of their sides still hurt where the kaiju nearly tore a whole before the Hong Kong teams closed the breach. It’s a minor miracle that they made it out of the ocean, not to mention that all jaegers pilots are still breathing. He can hear Boyd and Reyes celebrate loudly over the com while Allison and Scott confirm their location a few miles south of Volchitsa. Lydia and Jackson are already being flown to the Dome. “What if you'd died, huh? What the fuck would I do without you?”

“I think I'm in love with you,” Derek says, and then giggles.

_ Motherfucker.  _

“Motherfucker,” Stiles says out loud when he remembers they disconnected the thinking caps, that Derek isn't inside his mind anymore. “Definitely some kind of brain damage. How I fell in love with you is a fucking mystery bigger than the kaiju.”

Derek wraps his arms tightly around Stiles’ shoulders, pulls him down for a kiss. It's quick, soft, and something zings through Stiles like they never stopped drifting at all.

“Good thing the kaiju are gone, then,” Derek grins up at him, and Stiles helplessly smiles back.


End file.
